


Tears unnumbered

by mqlecshipper



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fingon's death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Post-Nirnaeth Arnoediad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:15:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24455791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mqlecshipper/pseuds/mqlecshipper
Summary: Aftermath of Nirnaeth Arnoediad. How the news of Fingon's death effects Maedhros
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Tears unnumbered

The night wind is warm and merciless on the tired elves. Maedhros has led his brothers and their men out of what had turned into a massacre, and they have set camp not far away, despite the nagging feeling in Maedhros’ stomach that they need to keep moving.

Maglor had spoken with his eyes. _We cannot go on_. It was then when Maedhros realized how utterly crushed everybody was. Maedhros himself was barely staying on his horse, his adrenaline the only thing that kept him going, and most of the soldiers they had managed to gather--less than a hundred, a mere fraction of what they had once been--were tired and weak.

Maedhros had known that there were too many injured, but he had kept on moving in fear. He had needed to make sure that they were as far away from the battlefield as they could be. Away from the blood and death. 

They needed to keep moving, but now they’re scattered across a small clearing, defeated and defenseless.

Of course, they have set up guards. They circle against the heavily injured who have been laid down on the ground. But nobody has managed to escape without a scratch, and they all know that if a threat is to present itself, they will not be able to hold defenses. Still, the facade helps. Maedhros almost believes that they’re far away enough to be safe, and that the guards are strong enough to defend them.

He yearns to learn of what has happened to the rest of his alliance, but he has no source of information, and is too occupied with what is to think about what could be. Too many wounded soldiers to lay down, wounds to take care of, supplies to take inventory of. Too many pairs of eyes looking at him for something. A guidance. Good news. Bad news. Anything.

He keeps moving until he cannot stand anymore.

It’s almost dawn, and Maedhros sits under a damp tree, staring at his sleeping brothers. Maglor sits beside him. Curufin had insisted that they sleep, but Maedhros has no intentions of doing so. He wonders if Maglor is awake. He is so painfully still and quiet, and Maedhros moves an inch closer just to make sure that he still breathes. His eyes are far away, and Maedhros wonders what thoughts occupy his mind. What thoughts could he possibly have that are bearable to even consider in this situation? Perhaps he also just sits there for the lack of anything else.

Whenever Maedhros tries to drift off, his body exhausted from the days before, too many thoughts flood his defenseless mind, each of them slipping through his fingers when he holds them for too long. He had made the alliance that has lead to this… But only if Thingol had assisted… And had it truly been Turgon whom he had seen? And Caranthir had been injured badly… What of Fingon? He had seen his blue banners-

No. Maedhros doesn’t dare to let his thoughts drift. He instead focuses on the crouched figures next to him. Make sure their breathings are even. Notice that Amras shifts a little bit in his sleep, but does not awaken. He stares, his eyes keen for the smallest change. He does not wish to think. Thinking is too much at the moment.

Fingon. His mind has conjured up Fingon, smiling in Himring. Though he wishes for no thoughts, he does not have the power to dismiss the image. It feels like an eternity ago, Fingon visiting for discussions about the alliance. This alliance. A sunny, sunny, day, quite uncommon in those times, when Fingon had smiled at him brilliantly before he left with a trail of blue flags behind him.

The same blue flags that left with him on the final attack. The ones who were so valiant, so strong, until the betrayal.

Maedhros hasn’t dared to hope in ages. Not anymore, after his captivity. Not after endless torment after torment, when Morgoth would take his smallest hopes, the little embers he kept embedded in himself, and kindle them them into the brightest nightmares.

But perhaps, just maybe this time, it will not be so.

  
Fingon still smiles brilliantly in his mind, and everything is almost right.

\----------------------

The sun is rising when Maglor’s voice calls him gently. “Maedhros,” The voice is soft, and the sunshine on his face is enough to let Maedhros believe in peace. He does not wish to awaken.

“There is urgent news, Maedhros.” Suddenly the sun is too blinding, too harsh. His heart drops down.

He quickly stands up, and sees new faces standing next to his guards who stand behind his brother. They wear Fingon’s marks on their tattered clothes.

Maedhros dares to hope. One fleeting image of Fingon, there, alive, with him.

Then he notices the quiet atmosphere around him, how his guards look at him with concerned eyes. How there are only three elves wearing Fingon’s marks, no more excited chatter around his small camp. He knows what the guards will say before he hears it.

Maedhros doesn’t cry anymore. His tears have drained out of him during his captivity in Angband.

But though he can’t cry, what strikes him now is pain so strong, he must be dying. He has not felt this way, not even in Thangorodrim.

Fingon. Fingon, who had smiled through the countless war meetings, helping everybody relax when the tensions were too high. Fingon, who should have been the one to survive instead of him because he was the one who saved Maedhros’ life.

The little amber of hope inside him has been crushed up again.

Maedhros gestures vaguely at the guards to give the newcomers something to eat, and goes back to the damp tree stump.

He does not move.

**Author's Note:**

> Might add more chapters. Maglor's POV maybe?


End file.
